


Bid Thee Feed

by emungere



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, Non-Sexual Age Play, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:17:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for #justfuckme up. Not exactly super kinky, but at least something I've never written before. </p><p> </p><p>  <em>Hannibal had let Will care for him without question, let Will decide their course and choose their destination, had done everything Will asked that was within his capabilities at the moment. It was hell on Will’s nerves. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [The Lamb](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/43670) by William Blake.

Will helped Hannibal out of the shower. They were both finally clean after days of travel. Safe. Silent in their shared pain and exhaustion. Hannibal had barely managed to stand for the length of the shower, and his knees buckled now. He sat down hard on the lid of the toilet while Will dried him and wrapped him in a towel. 

Will got himself dry and then turned down the bed and turned up the heating. He put an arm around Hannibal, pulled him up again, and got him into the bed. 

Hannibal lay back with an extended sigh. He watched Will through half-closed eyes, sleepy and trusting. He had let Will care for him without question, let Will decide their course and choose their destination, had done everything Will asked that was within his capabilities at the moment. It was hell on Will’s nerves. 

“How are you?” Will asked. Croaked. He hadn’t spoken for nearly a day, putting everything he had into getting them here. 

“In pain. Tired.” 

That was the other thing. Hannibal wasn’t lying or even bothering to wrap the truth up in his usual elegance. If Will asked him a question, he answered it, stark and straightforward. 

“Yeah. Me too. I’ll get your pills.” 

He got the bottles, water, and two bananas because neither of them had eaten for too long and the pills were meant to be taken with food. Hannibal swallowed painkillers and antibiotics and drained the water, but his mouth twisted when Will offered him the banana. 

Will sighed. “Come on. We haven’t got anything else left. I’ll go to the store tomorrow.” 

Hannibal took it and started eating. Will did the same with about as much enthusiasm. Their entire diet for the last two days had been bananas, raisins, saltines, and peanut butter. Hannibal finished his and dropped his head back on the pillow. 

Will took the peel for him. “Good job. You’re doing great.” It came out on reflex, the kind of thing he’d said when Walter was sick. Painfully inappropriate here. Will froze, caught between one life and the next, raw with exposure that he didn’t really understand. 

But Hannibal looked up at him without mockery or even amusement. “Am I?”

Something in his eyes made Will brush a hand across his forehead and pull the covers up again, tucking them in around him. “Yeah. You are.” 

*

They slept in the same bed. Will could’ve taken the couch. It was big enough to be comfortable. He didn’t want to. It made him twitchy to be that far from Hannibal, and Hannibal seemed happier when he was close. 

Will woke in the night when Hannibal’s arm caught him a hard blow across the chest. He jerked upright and away, and Hannibal did the same, but with a low, almost animal noise. To Will, veteran of night terrors, it sounded a lot like fear. 

“It’s me,” he said. “I’m going to turn on the lights.” 

Hannibal flinched from the light and then stared around the room, at the shadowed corners, and finally at Will’s face. He had sweat on his upper lip, and the sheets were tangled around him. His mouth opened, but he didn’t speak. 

“Bad one?” Will said. 

Hannibal nodded slowly, like even that much human communication required effort. He looked lost. 

Will got him a glass of water and a damp towel to wipe his face. Hannibal took them both in silence. He drained the glass. “Thank you,” he said. 

“Lie down,” Will told him. 

They lay on their sides, facing each other. “You don’t get a lot of nightmares, huh?” Will said. 

“No.” 

“You can wake me up. Any time.” 

Hannibal stared at him, eyes almost completely black in the dim light. Slowly, he snaked out a hand and held onto the front of Will’s T-shirt. Will put a hand over his. Hannibal closed his eyes. 

*

Hannibal drifted through the next few days. He slept most of the time and ran a constant low-grade fever. When Will asked him if that was something to be worried about, he surfaced from his fog long enough to assure Will that it wasn’t as long as it didn’t get worse. 

It didn’t get worse, but Will wasn’t sure he was getting better either. He took to spending most of his time sitting on the bed with Hannibal, propped up against the headboard, reading or just staring out the window. Hannibal lay on his good side, curled toward Will, not quite touching. 

“Would you read to me?” Hannibal said on the third day. 

“You sure? It’s just a kid’s book. I found it under the couch.” 

Hannibal just nodded, and Will started reading. 

The book was about a boy who got lost in the woods. He went into a cave that kept going deeper and deeper until he came to another world where monsters lived. Will found the boy's journey uncomfortably familiar in places, but maybe anything that involved monsters would have produced the same effect. 

Hannibal listened attentively, blankets pulled up to his chin, face soft as he looked up at Will. He didn’t look bored. He was probably too tired to be bored. Will was hovering on the edge of that himself. Cooking their meals and bringing in firewood was about as much as he wanted to do in a day. 

Besides, he didn’t really like leaving Hannibal alone. He watched Will until he left the room, and he was still watching when he came back. Will worried that he didn’t get much rest in between. 

His eyes were closed now, and Will set the book down. 

“Don’t stop,” Hannibal murmured. 

“Not bored yet?” 

“It’s a novel experience. I never read this sort of thing as a child.” 

“What did you read?” 

“Mathematics. History. Plato and Aristotle.” 

Will smiled. “I can’t really imagine you as a kid, but I can imagine that.” 

“I was a terrible child. A horror. You would have disliked me very much.” 

Will looked down at him, the expanse of his body drawn in on itself, curled up small beside him. “I don’t believe that,” he said. 

“I was demanding and abrupt and arrogant, quick-tempered and often rude.” 

Will shook his head. “Nope. Still not seeing it. Just the mental image of a tiny you in a tiny suit, sorry.” 

Hannibal gave him an irritated glance. “Should I then assume you were born surrounded by dogs with a fishing pole in one hand and a nitrile glove on the other?” 

“I did learn to fish pretty young. Would’ve had a dog if I could. What were you like, then?”

“I’ve just told you.” 

“Quick-tempered, abrupt … yeah, starting to see it. Keep going.” 

Hannibal regarded him coldly, face still half in the pillow. “If you can do nothing but deliberately rile me, go and stir your soup instead. From the smell, it could use the help.”

Will smiled at him. It hurt his face, but it was worth it. “If you say so.” He slid a hand through Hannibal’s hair on the way out. 

*

A week later, when Hannibal had healed enough to make it out of bed for more than two minutes at time, Will found him in the kitchen, staring into the fridge. 

“Is this all we have?” Hannibal said. “You’ve been to the store three times.” 

“I asked if you wanted anything.”

“And I told you what I wanted.” 

“You said the basics. There’s butter and bread and milk and coffee. Cereal. Cheese. What else do you want?” 

“I will write you a list.” His tone implied that Will had filled the kitchen with Velveeta and Vienna Sausages. 

Will looked on with amusement as Hannibal wrote out a grocery list in his usual absurdly elegant hand. That tired him out enough that he had to sit down on a kitchen stool. He thrust it at Will. “Take it.” 

Will took it. “Okay. But if I’m going back to the store, you’re getting back in bed.”

Hannibal didn’t answer but he did let Will take his arm and walk him to the bedroom. He was silent as he got into bed. Will sat next to him and looked down at the stubborn set of his jaw. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he asked. 

“Am I doing what on purpose?” 

“Acting like this.” 

“How am I acting?” 

“Arrogant, quick-tempered, abrupt, and often rude. Is this regression or do you just—“ Will stopped. He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. 

Hannibal turned his face away. Will ran his thumb behind Hannibal’s ear and down his neck and watched his tension ease. 

“If this is what you want from me, there are other ways to get it,” Will said. 

“Are there? This seems safer at the moment.”

Maybe it was safer. It was better than anything they’d managed so far. “Okay,” Will said. “You take a nap. I’ll get the food.” 

“How long will you be gone?” Hannibal asked quietly. 

Manipulation or not, it made Will’s heart lurch. “Not more than an hour, I promise.” 

*

Will bought what he could find of Hannibal’s list and then went to the bookstore. The house had no TV, no internet, and almost nothing to read if you didn’t like westerns. Will didn’t. 

He bought half a dozen books, a chess set, and, on impulse, a set of blocks with architectural features that was supposed to let you build various Greek ruins. Columns and architraves and arches. The cashier told him her daughter loved it. 

“Got some stuff to entertain us,” Will said when he got home. He left the bag on the bed and went to unpack the groceries. 

When he returned, Hannibal was sitting on the floor with most of the Parthenon assembled in front of him. Will sat down beside him. He leaned against the bed and stretched his legs out. “You like them?” 

“The proportions aren’t correct.”

“You can build anything you want, you know. It doesn’t have to be what it says on the box.” Will drew his knees up. It was easier to look at the wooden model than at Hannibal. He’d actually had this exact conversation with Walter over a Lego Mindstorm robotics set last Christmas. 

Hannibal removed one block, which somehow caused the entire structure to collapse. 

“Did you build it like that on purpose?” Will asked. 

“Not consciously. But the weak point was easy enough to spot. It usually is.” 

Will looked at the pile of fallen blocks. “How do you feel about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” 

Hannibal took a breath, objection written clearly on his face. He let it out again and leaned back against the bed. His shoulder touched Will’s. “All right,” he said. 

He followed Will into the kitchen and watched him make sandwiches. Will cut them into triangles and served them with carrot sticks. After lunch, they played chess. Hannibal beat him five times in a row without any apparent effort. 

“I always thought it was a dull game,” Hannibal said. “All it requires is a modicum of strategy and the ability to think ahead.” 

Will could see him suddenly, a much smaller, slighter version of Hannibal, but with the same expression of careless pride, knocking over someone’s king. 

“You want to do something else?”

Hannibal pressed his hands flat against the table. He looked at the chess board, barren of all but a few pieces on Will’s side. “Would you read to me again?” he said.

“Sure.” 

They went back into the bedroom. Will read him Aristotle’s Poetics until he fell asleep. 

*

That night, Hannibal woke from another nightmare, silent and staring. Will pulled him into his arms and felt Hannibal clutch at his shirt. Will closed his eyes and breathed into his hair. Hannibal pressed his face against Will’s chest. It was the closest they’d been since the moment on the edge of the bluff. Will didn’t want to let him go. He put a hand flat on Hannibal’s back and held him there.

“I haven’t had nightmares since I was twelve,” Hannibal said. 

“Not ever?”

“Not ever.”

“What are they about?” Will asked. 

Hannibal was quiet for the length of a few breaths. “The ocean. I’ve lost you under the water. I catch your hand, but you pull away. You want to be rid of me, even at the last.” 

Will looked down at him. He curved a hand over the back of Hannibal’s head, and he took a chance. “You know that’s not true,” he said softly. “You know I’ll always take care of you.” 

Hannibal didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but Will could feel the heat of tears on his chest. 

A long time passed in rigid stillness before Hannibal spoke again. “My sister is waiting for me at the bottom of the sea. She has such sharp teeth.” 

“She can’t have you,” Will said. “You’re mine.” 

*

The next day, Will heard a cut off, guttural sound from the back yard. He went out to look. Hannibal was standing over the body of a man who lay in the grass. The man’s neck was twisted to an unhealthy angle. His eyes were open and staring. 

Will looked at Hannibal, whom he had left napping in a cushioned wicker chair in the sun all of ten minutes ago. 

“He woke me,” Hannibal. His voice was rough, and he looked confused. He had a hand pressed to the wound in his side. “He didn’t smell like you.” 

“That’s not a good reason to kill someone,” Will said. He looked down at the body. There was a clipboard next to it. Some kind of environmental survey. “Shit. What am I supposed to do with this?” 

“Are you upset?” Hannibal asked.

“No,” Will said sharply. He was upset not to be more upset.

“I can help.” 

“You’ve done plenty already. Go back in the house. And stay there. I need to think.” 

Hannibal went without a word. 

Will knelt by the body. At least it was clean. No blood. It looked like he’d come through the side gate. The front door was obscured by a massive holly hedge and easy to miss. So he’d ended up back here. This was where he’d stay, Will decided. The yard was big and private. It would take a while to dig the hole and it would be murder, so to speak, on his shoulder, but it was safer than trying to move him. 

He went to the mudroom for a shovel. 

*

It took Will until evening to finish the job. He’d thought he could push through the pain from his shoulder but, after a while, he lost function and had to rest. While he rested, he watered the ground to soften it. He’d stored the environmentalist in the shade under a lilac. The flies found him quickly, and Will tried not to look at his face while he dug. 

The sun was setting by the time Will tipped him into the grave and filled it in and laid the sod over it. In a week or two, there would be no sign of any disturbance of the ground. Will searched briefly for appropriate words, but he had none. His bones hurt. He was smeared with mud from head to toe. He felt as if he had buried himself. 

When he went into the house, he found Hannibal on the bedroom floor. He was building a spire. Oddly delicate for something made from chunky wooden blocks, it stretched three feet into the air. 

Will had been heading for the shower, but he stopped and sat down, facing Hannibal, on the other side of the structure. 

Hannibal was drawing an arched doorway onto one of the blocks with a pencil. He didn’t look at Will. “I didn’t mean to do it,” he said. 

“I know.”

“Will you punish me anyway?” He said it as if that was a reasonable, legitimate possibility, as if Will might spank him or ground him or send him to bed without his dinner. 

“No. You don’t get punished for accidents.”

“Lenient,” Hannibal murmured. 

“Hannibal …” Will rubbed dirty hands over his dirty face. “Have you eaten?” 

“No.” 

“Okay. I’m going to clean up and then I’ll make us something. But tomorrow we have to talk about this.” 

Hannibal kept drawing his doorway and didn’t acknowledge that Will had spoken at all. 

*

Will still had dirt under his nails the next morning. He scrubbed them while he let the pancake batter rest. He cooked blueberry pancakes and bacon. He and Hannibal sat across the small table from each other with the morning light coming through the curtains. 

“You first,” Will said. 

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” Hannibal said. 

“I buried the guy you killed yesterday. You first.” 

Hannibal drew his fork through the syrup and held it up to catch the light. “There are several factors at work here. The nightmares. My dependence on you. Our unease with each other. We have no settled pattern of behavior now that does not involve violence. We are searching for a way forward.” 

Will picked up his coffee cup to warm his hands. “Got that. Thanks. What about the rest of it?” 

“You wouldn’t hurt a child,” Hannibal. He was looking down. The sun fell caught in his lashes and turned them nearly white. “Nor abandon one. In my current state, I cannot trade you violence for violence as I might at another time. You are pushed into the role of caretaker.” He nodded to the grave outside. “Cleaning up after me.” 

“Those are practical reasons,” Will said. “You don’t play with blocks for practical reasons.” 

Hannibal was silent. He cut out a wedge of pancake, chewed, and swallowed. “I took apart your life, brick by brick. You did the same to me. You seem to have put yourself back together.”

“And you want me to do the same for you?” 

“I want time,” Hannibal said. “I want the assurance that you won’t leave me until I know I can bear it.” 

Will made himself eat and breathe and not promise anything he might regret later. “How old were you? When she died?” 

“Nine. Almost ten.” 

“Well. I’ve been letting you stay up way too late then,” Will said. 

*

“It’s too early,” Hannibal said, petulance creeping into his voice, a childish slant to the words as he looked up from his book.

It was eight-thirty. Will felt ready to fall over. He was still exhausted from the grave digging the day before, and his shoulder hurt so much that he could barely lift his arm. “I don’t want any backtalk from you tonight. You’re tired, and so am I. Go brush your teeth. Right now, please.” 

Hannibal looked up at him with genuine surprise, like he’d thought Will wouldn’t — what? Take it seriously? Go that far? Will couldn’t read the succession of expressions that passed over his face, but, in the end, Hannibal nodded and put his book away. 

Will watched him brush his teeth and change into his pajamas. He remembered telling Hannibal he would be a good father. He’d felt sure of it, then. 

When Hannibal was tucked into bed, Will sat beside him, leaning against the headboard. “Do you want a story?”

“Yes, please,” Hannibal said. “The first one you read me, about the boy who finds monsters.” 

It hadn’t been that good a book the first time around, but Will went and got it anyway. He started to read. “When Tommy looked into the cave, he thought he could see lights inside, moving like fireflies.” 

Hannibal moved closer, and Will put an arm around him. Hannibal rested against him, a warm, solid weight, head on Will’s good shoulder. They were both asleep before the end of the first chapter. 

Will woke in the night and nudged a sleepily grumbling Hannibal down until he was lying flat. Will stayed as he was, stroking his hair until he was still again. 

He thought about the morning, about starting over, about teaching Hannibal how to fish.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got an ask on tumblr for more of this, so...

The next time Will went into town, he ended up at the little art store next to the library. It had a jungle scene painted in its window with a tiger roaring out a speech bubble that advertised 20% off. He found a display of drawing pencils and was immediately lost. 

“Need any help?” 

Will turned and saw a young man with heavy glasses and a wispy beard. “I was looking for something for — a gift,” he said. 

“Who for?”

“Does it matter?” Will said. 

“Most guys will spend more on their girlfriend than their mom. It helps to know which way to steer them,” the man said drily. 

Will looked back at the pencils. He hesitated, but not for long. “They’re for my son.”

“We’ve got some beginner kits—“

“No. He’s better than that.” 

The guy finally shut up and picked out some pencils. Will added a set of colored ones too and paid more for it all than he thought was reasonable. He went onto the grocery store. When he got back to the house, he left the bag of art supplies on the table for Hannibal and went to start lunch. 

He made tomato soup with garlic croutons, peripherally aware of Hannibal unpacking the bag. When the soup was ready, he brought it to the table. Hannibal was drawing, but it didn’t look like his usual detailed pencil sketches. He’d opened only the colored pencils and was filling the paper with abstract shapes in blue and green and gray. 

Will couldn’t tell what they were meant to be, if they were meant to be anything, but it wasn’t a child’s work. Something about the combination of shape and color and space caught and drew the eye. “That’s really good,” he said. 

“It’s not finished.”

“You can work on it after lunch. Time to eat now.” 

Hannibal closed the sketch pad without argument and set it aside, but he glanced at it more than once as he ate.

\\*

Later that afternoon, he brought it to Will where he sat on the couch. “It’s done. Do you want to see it?”

“I’d love to.” 

Hannibal laid the sketch pad in his lap. Will looked down at the amorphous shapes, some intersected by lines or circles, each one shaded so that its color faded at the edges. He almost touched one and then pulled his hand back. “I’ve never seen you do anything like this before,” he said. 

“Do you still like it?”

“I love it.”

“You may have it if you promise not to try to divine any sort of meaning from it.” 

“Art interpretation isn’t really my thing,” Will said. “Can I hang it on the fridge?” 

Hannibal looked as if he didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended. He sniffed a little before he agreed that yes, it could go on the fridge. 

They stood and looked at it together after Will hung it up with a magnet shaped like a boot. “I’ve seldom drawn in color,” Hannibal said. 

“Why’s that?” 

“The simplicity of black and white gave the work solidity. A weight that made it more real to me than the places and people it portrayed.” 

Will nodded to his drawing with its lines and colors blending one into another. “This one doesn’t look that solid.”

“No,” Hannibal said. “It’s not.” 

\\*

They both managed to stay awake through story time that night. Will set the book aside after one chapter. Hannibal stayed where he was, head on Will’s shoulder. “It’s a dreadful book,” he said. 

“It’s not that bad. We can go back to Aristotle tomorrow if you want.” 

“If I asked you to tell me a story, what sort of story would you tell?” 

Will thought for a while. He stroked Hannibal’s hair. It slid lightly between his fingers, the silver strands a little finer than the rest. “I’d tell you about the black stag,” he said. “And how it came to make friends with a little boy who lived by himself at the edge of the woods.”

“A black stag?”

Will nodded. “Shiny black all over with feathers growing out of its fur. It was so dark that the boy could only see it because its antlers were on fire.”

“But the rest of it didn’t burn?” Hannibal said.

“Just the antlers. Like it was holding up a torch so he could see it.” 

“Did he go out to meet it?”

“Time to sleep,” Will said. “I’ll tell you more tomorrow.” 

“You don’t know what happens next.”

Will smiled and switched the lights off. “Yeah, you got me. But I’ll figure it out.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for Paperwhite_Narcissus, who wanted more of this. :) 
> 
> Thanks to louiselux for the speedy beta!

Will had driven the environmentalist’s car into a lake a few miles away. The house had no close neighbors. That was why he’d picked it. Even so, he hadn’t planned to stay long, and that was before he’d buried a body in the back yard. 

The camper van in the used car lot caught his eye on the way back from the store. It was white with a faded stripe down the side and a scattering of rust spots. The sign propped on the hood set the price at $4700. Not terrible, but more than he really wanted to pay for a 1977 Chevy rust bucket. 

The man who approached him across the dusty asphalt lot looked like he’d been cast by someone in Hollywood for the role of Used Car Salesman #1, not just once, but as a career. He had a loud suit, loud hair, and an electric grin full of oversized teeth. 

“Fine vehicle there, sir!” he said. 

“I’d like to take a look under the hood.” 

The man paused. “Know a lot about engines?” he said, smile recovering. 

“Yeah,” Will said. “I do.” 

*

In the end, it took him nearly three hours to get the price down to something reasonable, to make sure all the appliances and the generator worked, that the water tanks wouldn’t leak and the propane tank wouldn’t explode. The engine needed work, but it was nothing he couldn’t do himself. He drove off in it and left the car he’d bought back in Iowa parked three blocks away, unlocked with the keys on the seat. 

Hannibal was standing in the driveway when he got back. Will stepped out and watched him assess the van: up and down, back and forth, tires to windshield. When he was done he looked back to Will. “Are we leaving?” 

“I think we’d better, yeah. Soon.” 

Hannibal opened the side door to the van and stuck his head inside. Will couldn’t see past him, but he knew from extensive examination that the tiny kitchen was to the left, bathroom opposite, bed beyond. 

“It smells of mildew and glue,” Hannibal said. 

“We’ll air it out.”

He followed Hannibal inside and sat down next to him on the bed at the back. The mattress, though thin, was nearly brand new, and big enough for both of them. Hannibal shifted side to side and pressed his palms against it. 

“You were gone longer than you said you would be. Much longer.” Hannibal spoke quietly, eyes on the floor. 

Will opened his mouth to reply and closed it again. It wasn’t always easy to tell when Hannibal was himself and when he was … younger. There was no word or signal, no real significant shift in speech patterns or bearing. Just this: the vulnerability, the willingness to show it, the silent request for reassurance that dug a knife up under Will’s ribs and lodged there, throbbing. 

“I know,” he said. He put a hand on Hannibal’s back and rubbed slowly between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” 

Hannibal leaned toward him, shoulder pushing against his. He sagged down just a little to let Will put an arm around him. Will kissed the top of his head. “Were you scared here by yourself?” 

“I wasn’t _scared_.” Hannibal twisted his hand in the hem of Will’s shirt. “I was only worried about you. That something had happened. That you wouldn’t come back.” 

Will drew him closer. He curved a hand over the back of his head, fingers sliding through his hair. “I’ll always come back.” 

“You couldn’t if something happened to you.” 

Will wondered if Hannibal had been like this as a child, so relentlessly logical, or if it was because of what had happened to his family. “I’ll always try to come back,” Will said. “We’ll buy some cell phones so I can call if I’m going to be late. Does that sound good?” 

Hannibal nodded. He turned to hide his face against Will’s chest. Will held him carefully and rocked him a little, rocked them both. “We’ll do that tomorrow. You can come with me and wait in the van. For now, let’s have lunch and then we’ll see about packing up.” 

“I was going to draw,” Hannibal said, muffled but stubborn. 

“You can draw while I make lunch. Unless you want to help.” 

He waited while Hannibal made up his mind, going over to-do lists in his head and listening to the warm, rising wind. Summer was creeping up on them. He imagined the sun on their skin, Hannibal losing the pale, indoor complexion and constricted movements he’d gotten from three years in a well appointed cage. 

“I’ll help with lunch,” Hannibal said. 

“Okay. Let’s get to it then. We’ve got a lot to do.” 

Will made them haute cuisine grilled cheese, with sourdough and brie and sun-dried tomatoes from the local farmer’s market. He gave Hannibal carrots to peel and chop into carrot sticks — and found himself hesitating over the knife. “You’ll be careful, right?” 

“Yes, of course.” Hannibal gave him a look of scorn that Will had previously only seen directed at Mason Verger. “It’s hardly a difficult task.” 

Will went back to spreading butter on the bread and tried to avoid thinking about any of Hannibal’s knife skills. He had the sandwiches in the pan when he heard a breath behind him, not quite a gasp. He turned. A few spots of blood stained the cutting board, and Hannibal was clutching his finger. 

He’d done it on purpose. He had to have done it on purpose. Hannibal Lecter cutting himself by accident while chopping carrots? Only if the stars were falling from the sky and angels were walking the Earth in preparation for the final battle. 

Will beckoned him over to the sink and washed the cut for him. “Does it hurt?” 

Hannibal shook his head. He didn’t speak while Will blotted it dry and got him a band-aid. Will flipped the sandwiches with an arm around Hannibal’s waist, keeping him close. When he was done, he kissed the injured finger. Hannibal watched him the whole time with an expression that Will had never seen before, something hesitant, yearning, and almost frightened at the same time. 

Will finished up the carrot sticks. They sat at the kitchen table. Hannibal didn’t look up from his plate. “You’re not going to tell me I should’ve been more careful?” he said. 

“You don’t get punished for accidents. I told you that already.” Or for faking them in search of — Will really wasn’t sure what Hannibal’s goal had been. 

“I’m not speaking of punishment.” 

“Okay. What did you mean then?” 

Hannibal glanced up at him, oddly wary, and Will couldn’t tell if it was the man or the child looking out of his familiar face. Maybe there wasn’t that much difference once you stripped away the easy cruelty and the impeccable manners. 

“You told me to be careful. I didn’t listen, but you have no word of reproach.”

“Did you expect to get yelled at for cutting yourself?” 

Hannibal looked down again. He had his carrot sticks arranged in a perfectly spaced fan at the edge of his plate. “I had no defined expectations.” 

“You wanted to see what I’d do,” Will said, even as some deeper part of his mind offered: _you wanted to see if it was safe to make mistakes, safe to be in pain._

“It’s better to know. With the pertinent information, one can be prepared.”

“Well, now you know,” Will said. “Eat your lunch. It’s getting cold.” 

*

After lunch, Will washed the dishes while Hannibal drew at the table, crumbs swept to one side. Will came over to wipe them up. “Time to get to work. Come on, put that away and come and help me get your stuff packed.” 

“I told you I wanted to draw,” Hannibal said. 

“Yeah, you did. I said you could draw while I fixed lunch, but you decided to help instead. Now it’s time to work. You can draw when we’re done.” 

“No.” Hannibal spoke without looking up from his paper. 

“Do you want story time tonight?” 

Hannibal’s hand stopped in the middle of the line he was drawing, a curving arc like the crest of a wave. He glanced up at Will. “Yes.” 

“Then be a good boy and help me pack. You can draw after.” 

Hannibal gripped the pencil tight with pale fingertips. Will felt an odd knot of anticipation drawing tight in his stomach. He’d sure as hell never felt like this telling Walter to do his homework. 

Will held out his hand. “Give me the sketchbook.” 

Hannibal looked up at him with such telegraphed calculation that Will had to fight to keep a straight face. He slammed the book shut. “I was going to draw you, but I won’t now.” 

A little hot bloom of triumph swelled in Will's chest. He took the book and the pencils and set them aside. “I’m sorry to hear that. Come on. We’ll start with your blocks.” 

Hannibal didn’t quite stamp his feet as he followed Will into the bedroom, but Will had a feeling he was considering it. 

Packing didn't take long in the end. They didn't have much to pack. Their clothes fit in one duffle bag. Hannibal's blocks and other bits and pieces fit in a cardboard box with Will's books on top. Will labeled the box TOYS, and watched Hannibal look at the word as if it were written in a language even he didn’t speak. 

"Where will we go?" Hannibal asked. 

"I don't know yet. Is there anywhere you want to go?"

Hannibal looked past Will, out the window at the back yard. "Somewhere empty. Where no one will come."

Will had expected him to say Florence or France or at least a major city. "Empty of people?"

"Of everything."

They were already halfway to California. "Ever been to Baja?"

"Never."

"Good. Me neither."

Will spent the rest of the day with maps and budgets and worries over passports. Hannibal had volunteered neither money nor any sort of ID since they'd left the cliff house. Will had expected him to have at least half a dozen back-up identities at his disposal but, if he did, he wasn't sharing. Now, with Hannibal like this, Will didn’t want to ask. The pretense that he could fix this for both of them had become as important to him as to Hannibal. He didn’t want to shatter it by asking for help. 

It was a long way to California, a long way down to Baja. He’d figure something out. For now, he put the box in the van, set out clothes for the morning, and put the duffle bag at the foot of the bed, standing open to receive soap and toothbrushes in the morning. 

He watched Hannibal draw and thought about forensic evidence. He’d wipe their prints and not bother about the rest. DNA would take time, and he hoped to be out of the country before anyone caught their trail. It would be easier to move now with Hannibal so much stronger. With luck, Jack would never find this place. They’d slip across the border and disappear into some empty land. 

*

That night, in bed, Hannibal lay on his good side with his head on Will’s thigh. “What do you want?” Will said. “I left Plato and that one on the history of Finland out of the box.” 

“I want the story about the feathered stag and the boy,” Hannibal said. 

“Okay.” Will thought for a minute. He touched Hannibal’s cheek and neck and felt the stubble there, the soft, smooth skin behind his ear. Stars pricked an ink black sky outside, cut into sections by the paned window. “That night, when the black stag came out of the forest, it knelt down in the grass and bent its head so the little boy wouldn’t be afraid.” 

“Was he afraid?”

“No, not at all.”

“Even with its antlers on fire?” Hannibal asked. 

“He knew it didn’t mean to hurt him. And when he got close, he found that the fire wasn’t hot. It wouldn’t burn him. He closed his hand around one antler, and he couldn’t even feel the flames.” 

Hannibal blinked up at him, slow and sleepy. “Did he break it off to light his way?” 

“No,” Will said gently. “He wouldn’t go into the forest without the stag anyway, so he wouldn’t need a torch. He was scared to go alone. But he sat on the stag’s back, and it carried him into the trees.” 

“And then?” 

“Not sure I should tell you tonight. I don’t want you to have nightmares.” 

Will expected an argument, but Hannibal only looked up at him for a few seconds and then nodded. “Will you tell me while we drive tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’ll tell you the whole story.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal took almost shockingly well to life in the camper van. He drew a lot, even while they were driving, mostly quick sketches of the changing landscape they passed through. He showed them to Will when they stopped at various rest areas along the highway: a wind farm, low hills dotted with stunted trees, fields full of hay that had been harvested and rolled into massive round bales. 

They crossed the Mississippi, and Will pulled off the highway to get a view of it from the other side. “My dad used to fix boats on the river sometimes,” he said. “He’d tell me how it went all the way from Canada down to the Gulf of Mexico, and you could follow the currents even further. There was a guy who paddled a canoe down to South America.” 

“Is that what we’re going to do?” Hannibal asked. He looked completely willing to try it if Will said yes. 

Will looked down the length of the river to the horizon. “I think we’d better keep driving,” he said. 

“Shall I make lunch?”

“Sure.” Will waited till he’d turned back toward the van. “Hannibal?” 

Hannibal looked back over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“No sharp knives. If you need anything cut, you come and tell me, okay?” 

Hannibal let his gaze drop momentarily. “Yes, Will. I promise.” 

They got back on the road. Will had done all the driving so far. He would’ve liked a break, but not enough to demand that Hannibal come back from wherever he was. And Will had to admit that he was getting at least as much out of this as Hannibal was. 

He liked it: Hannibal biddable and obedient, Hannibal willful and refusing to do his chores. Hannibal lying next to him in bed at night, asking softly for a bedtime story. Hannibal clinging to him in the dark after a nightmare as if only Will could save him. 

Hannibal emerged from the back with two sandwiches on plastic plates: ham, lettuce, and mustard with the crusts cut off, along with a segmented orange. Will squeezed his shoulder as he sat down in the passenger’s seat. “Thanks. This looks great.” 

They ate and watched the gray road in front of them. The yellow lines had faded and flaked away along this stretch of highway to tired suggestions. Rain spat against the windshield. Clouds piled up against the horizon, thick and dark, rising high into the sky. 

“Tell me about the black stag?” Hannibal said. 

Will finished up his sandwich, wiped his hands on a tissue, and thought. The story had grown in his mind since he’d started telling it. He wasn’t sure it was suitable for children anymore. “Where were we?” he said. 

“The boy had just gotten on the stag’s back to ride away with him into the forest,” Hannibal said.

“What do you think happens next?” 

Hannibal gave him an unimpressed look. “It’s your story.” 

Will’s mouth twisted into something approaching a smile. “Fair enough. Okay. So they rode into the forest. The trees were very tall and close together, and branches hung down everywhere, and long, pale green moss hung from the branches. The boy kept having to duck so he wouldn’t get knocked off. He put his arms around the stag’s neck and pressed his cheek there. It was very warm, and he could feel the stag breathing.” 

Will thought of how Hannibal’s blood and breath had sounded when he’d leaned against his chest at the top of the cliff. He could still feel it, still hear the stutter of air as Hannibal clutched him close. 

“Where were they going?” Hannibal asked. 

“They were going to the heart of the wood,” Will said. “The boy could hear it somewhere ahead of them. At first he thought it was the beat of the stag’s heart, but it got louder and louder. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. The pale green moss got darker. It dripped darkness down onto them as they passed, and the darkness smelled of metal. It rolled over the boy’s face and hair. It was as warm as the stag underneath him.” 

Hannibal had turned in his seat to look at him. “It was blood.” 

“Yes. And slowly the boy became aware that the stag’s hide was slippery with blood under his hands. He couldn’t hold on. He was starting to fall.” 

Hannibal shook his head. “Will—“

Will got a split second image of his pale face as lightning speared down from the sky just in front of them. A transformer exploded in a cloud of sparks. Will put his foot on the gas to speed them past it. In the rear view mirror, a live wire snaked across the road, cars piling up on the far side. The rain came down.

Will took a shaky breath and looked at Hannibal, who was staring straight ahead now, watching the river that flowed down their windshield. Will put on the wipers, but the world outside had been reduced to lights and impressions through a torrent of water. He pulled over to the side of the road behind a semi and took a couple of deep breaths, gripping the wheel as his heart calmed.

He took a drink from the water bottle that sat between them and cleared his throat. “Should I keep going?” 

“Not now.” Hannibal reached for him, still staring at the rain. “It’s like being underwater.” 

Will took his hand and held it tight. The gray-green Atlantic moved restlessly at the back of his mind. “We’re okay though. We’re safe now. I promise.” 

They held onto each other, waiting for the rain to ease.


	5. Chapter 5

They stopped for the night in the middle of Death Valley. Will pulled the van off the highway at a deserted campsite and used the small charcoal grill next to the picnic bench to cook steaks. He wrapped potatoes in tinfoil and set them among the coals to bake. 

No one passed by on the road. Wind whispered over the dry earth and blew a fine dust over the asphalt road surface with a sound almost like song. As sunset slipped into dusk, they heard a coyote howl. Hannibal stood at the edge of the campsite and faced outward into the dark. Will walked over to stand beside him. 

He put a hand on Hannibal’s back. “What do you think?”

“The sense of space is immense,” Hannibal said. He leaned into Will’s touch and lifted his chin toward the far horizon, which was quickly vanishing into unrelieved night. “The world feels naked, and the sky is always watching.” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Not entirely. But the forest can hide many things. At least here one would always be able to see what was coming. ” 

“The ocean’s like that too,” Will said. “You can’t hide from anything out there. I figured out a lot of stuff when I was crossing the Atlantic.” 

Hannibal turned his head away from the dark and toward Will. “Things about me?” 

“Things about you. Things about how I felt about you.” 

“How do you feel about me?” 

If Hannibal had asked him in his office, or over his dinner table, or from behind a wall of glass, Will wouldn’t have been able to answer. Here, on the naked Earth at the edge of the night, it was easy. “I love you,” Will said. 

Hannibal’s expression shifted away from the simplicity of childhood. He turned his back to Will, though he didn’t pull away from his touch.

Will stood behind him and rested his cheek on Hannibal’s shoulder. He could feel Hannibal’s quickened breath and heartbeat. “Do you want to hear the end of the story?”

“Is it — a good ending?” Hannibal asked. 

“Depends how you look at it, I guess.” 

Hannibal was silent for a long time. “Tell me,” he said. 

“The boy was falling from the stag’s back, remember?”

“I remember.” 

“The stag caught him as fell, but it caught him on its antlers. It pierced the boy right through. Then he was bleeding too, and his blood mixed with the stag’s and with the forest’s.”

“Did he die?” Hannibal asked. 

“He was dying, but the stag brought him to the heart of the forest and laid him down on it. The boy could hear nothing but the steady beat of it, and its blood flowed into him and filled him up. But it wasn’t enough. He set his teeth into the beating heart, and the taste was so good that he ate it all up.” 

“Life for life,” Hannibal said. 

“Something always has to die. Afterward, he found the black stag lying on its side. It told him that the heart of the forest had been its heart as well.” 

“And so the boy had to leave him behind.” Hannibal’s back stiffened as he spoke, and he swallowed after the last word. 

Will took his hand. “The boy told the stag that since its heart was inside him now, they’d have to share, and that they’d have to stay together always. They could never be parted again. And they left the forest that was dying around them and they walked toward the sea.” 

Hannibal held his hand in a grip that ground Will’s bones together and twisted his knuckles. He had to bite the inside of his cheek against the pain, but he took it. It didn’t ease for a long time. 

“We should eat,” Will said finally. “The potatoes must be done by now.” 

Hannibal turned toward him. The emptiness in his eyes reminded Will of the moment when he’d told Hannibal he didn’t want to see him or think about him ever again. It was not a child’s expression, or at least it shouldn’t be. Will pulled him close and kissed his forehead and held him. 

“Are we going to the sea?” Hannibal asked, very soft against Will’s neck. 

“Would you like that? I thought we might get a boat and sail down to Baja. And if you don’t like it there, we could go anywhere.” 

“I will go where you go,” Hannibal said. “Always.” 

Will led him back to the fire. They ate dinner outside with the sky watching them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end, for real this time. Thanks to everyone who's read and commented. Y'all are the best. <3

**Author's Note:**

> You can check out my [original writing here](http://www.eleanorkos.com/) if you're interested.
> 
>  
> 
> [emungere.tumblr.com](http://emungere.tumblr.com)


End file.
